Children
by DDG
Summary: *Gen* After a few moments of consideration, TBag shrugged. “I wouldn’t know, Pretty,” he paused, then added with a shrewd grin, “but maybe there’s a little Teddy runnin’ ‘round down in ‘bama, hm?”


**Title:** Children  
**Character/Pairing:** T-Bag  
**Prompt:** #027. Children  
**Rating:** PG  
**Summary:** After a few moments of consideration, T-Bag shrugged. "I wouldn't know, Pretty," he paused, then added with a shrewd grin, "but maybe there's a little Teddy runnin' 'round down in 'bama, hm?"  
**Author's Notes:** It took me three tries but I _finally_ wrote this in a way that satisfies me. Betaed by the lovely AlmostForgiven. -Also posted on Prison Break Fic and Prison Break 100-  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine -- just taking them out for a little spin.

* * *

"Been wonderin'," T-Bag began, leaning against the wall of the C.O. break room. 

Michael, climbing from the waist-deep hole in the middle of the room, decided to humor the rapist. He nodded to Sucre who dropped into the hole, before questioning, "What've you been wondering, T-Bag?"

"'Bout y'all's kids." T-Bag accompanied the answer with a mischievous grin but was met with contemptuous glares from the fathers in the room.

"I think kids are the last thing we're going to discuss with _you_, Pervert," Abruzzi intoned.

Licking his chapped lips, T-Bag waved off Abruzzi's words. "I know you got a little boy and girl on the outside, Johnny-boy. All smooth-skinned and _untouched_." He smiled wickedly and mockingly at the Mob boss. "Think maybe I can get to them before them Mafia chickens you got all up in a tizzy do?"

Abruzzi, clearly not amused, reached for a nearby hammer before his hand stayed at Michael's insistent glare that wordlessly said, "Ignore him."

T-Bag continued down the line, Westmoreland his next victim. "Hear you's got a daughter, D.B." The pervert nodded clinically and added, "Don't usually go after older women—least not _too_ old, anyway—but I could . . . make an exception."

"T-Bag—"

"Shh, Pretty, I ain't done yet." T-Bag turned to Sucre, busy breaking up concrete in the bottom of the hole. "And I hear you've got a little bundle of joy on the way, hm?"

Sucre craned his head to glower at T-Bag. "It's nothing of _your_ business, _pendejo_."

"Maybe I'm makin' it my business."

Lincoln took two steps and closed the relatively short gap between himself and T-Bag. With a rough _thud_, Linc slammed T-Bag against the wall, sending little bits of drywall fluttering into his hair.

"We are _not_ discussing this any further," Linc growled, his fists clenching the blue material of T-Bag's jumpsuit, lifting the pervert farther up the wall.

"But Sink," T-Bag lilted, "I didn't even get to the best part." He pursed his lips, waiting for a reaction from Lincoln.

Creasing his brow in an unappreciative frown, Lincoln mulled over T-Bag's words before rage abolished any rational thought he may have had and his hands were wrapped around T-Bag's throat.

"Don't you dare bring him into this!" Lincoln squeezed T-Bag's trachea harder when he licked his lips salaciously and grinned wider.

"He's such a pretty boy, Sink," T-Bag nearly wheezed out as his breathing decreased. "Wouldn't mind gettin' my hands on—" Grasping at Lincoln's arms and hands wildly as his entire air supply was cut off, T-Bag gasped for breath.

"Lincoln." It was Michael, finally intervening. "Let him down," he said in what would normally be a commanding tone but seemed more a request in the presence of his older brother.

Lincoln released his grip, reluctantly, and stepped away, allowing T-Bag to slide to the floor, massaging his tender throat.

Regaining his breath, T-Bag, spiteful and knowing that Michael wouldn't allow another such transgression to occur, tilted his head up, his eyes closed, and casually said, "Much as I enjoyed that, Sink, think your boy would enjoy it more." He waited for a response and when he didn't receive one, he opened his eyes and looked around.

Lincoln had switched to lookout and in his place, C-Note was now sanding the wall to T-Bag's right. T-Bag scratched the bottom of his chin thoughtfully.

"Do you have any children, T-Bag?" Michael's question, curiosity at its best, brought a small frown to the rapist's visage.

After a few moments of consideration, T-Bag shrugged. "I wouldn't know, Pretty," he paused, then added with a shrewd grin, "but maybe there's a little Teddy runnin' 'round down in 'bama, hm?"


End file.
